


Found in Translation

by ThoseDaysThatWill



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Vancouver Canucks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-01-04 12:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18343259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseDaysThatWill/pseuds/ThoseDaysThatWill
Summary: He wasn’t supposed to be looking. Brock knew that. And if he had been called on it, he would have said he wasn’t looking at all, but the truth was… he was looking. And he couldn’t help but like what he saw. And that was a problem.There were three things that Elias was told to expect before he walked into the locker room on the first day of camp. He was going to get overwhelmed by everything. They were going to pronounce his name wrong. And Americans were trouble.





	1. Brock

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a request, from a lovely anon, to write these two. They gave me three prompts. This is pretty much none of them (it will be!), but it is establishing where this story starts. And there will be more that will actually fill the prompts (and some of the tags that don't make sense yet).

He wasn’t supposed to be looking. Brock knew that. And if he had been called on it, he would have said he wasn’t looking at all, but the truth was… he _was_ looking. And he couldn’t help but like what he saw. And that was a problem.

When Brock came to Vancouver, full of promise and expectations, it was supposed to be scary. And there were some aspects, maybe, that were. But overall, the moment he arrived, he felt more comfortable than he should have been. He attributed that to Troy, of course. He had left North Dakota the season before, signing with the same Canucks that had drafted Brock. (A coincidence, of course.) Troy had called him almost daily the season before, told him every in and out of being an NHL rookie (even if the expectations on them weren’t the same, the general idea was) to the point that Brock felt like he knew what to expect.

Troy already had a place; it didn’t make sense for both of them to live alone when they didn’t have to. Besides, Phoebe loved Brock almost as much as she loved Troy.  And Troy loved Brock almost as much as he loved Phoebe. Brock, for his part, loved them both, but couldn’t put a ranking on it if he tried. He wasn’t sure if he had loved Troy in North Dakota, but maybe he had. College was about the hockey, that was most important. The rest was nice, the guys, the parties, but not as important as doing well for the team. Everyone had been his friend, his best buddy even, but only Troy had shared his bed.

They didn’t put a word on it until Brock was in Vancouver. Troy had never asked him if he’d slept with anyone in the year they’d been apart, and neither had he. He _hadn’t_ , but for some reason, he didn’t feel the need to tell Troy that. And he _knew_ Troy hadn’t, so he didn’t need to ask. For both of them, it was so nice to not have to fall asleep in an empty bed, to be able to curl around each other against the exhaustion and cold. Troy was so comfortable, so easy to be with. They had the same sense of humor, liked the same kind of TV shows and movies, talked the same way. Brock found it easy to tell him that he loved him.

Then, the next summer, the press informed him that he was no longer _the_ hot young rookie of the Canucks, because next season they would have a _new_ hot young rookie that was going to save them (it was implied ‘since Brock couldn’t do it’) and bring them back to the playoffs again. Maybe Brock was supposed to be annoyed by that, or upset, or even angry. But he was none of those things. (Maybe Troy was, for him, but he tried to dissuade that.) He didn’t _want_ to carry the team (he wasn’t really, he’d said) and he was _thrilled_ to have someone to help him, especially since they were already talking about what good linemates they’d make going into the future.

He and Troy had been drying off in the lakeside sun in the last few days of summer the first time Troy brought it up, “Did you hear what they were saying about you?”

Brock groaned, “No, and can I not hear either?”

Troy made a shrugging sound and said nothing, but Brock could hear his reply all the same. He _wanted_ to tell him what they’d said. It seemed sometimes Troy got a real kick out of hearing Brock’s name on television, hearing them talk on and on about him any time the Canucks were mentioned. He wanted to think it was just that Troy was proud of his boyfriend, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that it was _something else_. Something he couldn’t put a word to, yet anyway.

He turned over in the lounge chair, pressing his face into the balled-up towel he’d been using as a pillow, “Fine, what did they say about me?”

“That you’re going to take this new kid ‘under your wing’.” Troy reported with a laugh. “I think they’re sad we don’t have a top line couple they can shove in people’s faces, so they’re going to make one.”

Brock sighed. He hadn’t told Troy that he’d already received _two_ phone calls about the guy, including one from their coach asking that he do exactly that. They wanted him to room with him on the road right away, to help him adjust to the spotlight he was about to be shoved into. ‘Hopefully as well as you have,’ he had said. What was Brock supposed to say to that?! Of course, he agreed to help him however he could. He hadn’t told Troy about the roommate switch yet. Maybe he’d wait and let the powers that be tell him. It wasn’t like he had _asked_ for it, they just wanted the new guy to be as comfortable as he was. That was all it was.

Of course, they’d put his locker beside his, he’d noticed that the moment he got there. Troy’s was across the room, the powers that be assuming he’d want to sit near some of the more experienced defensemen, as if Troy would listen rather than talk. He wasn’t saying that Troy wouldn’t appreciate some good advice, but with the nervous energy he always got before games, he was better situated next to someone that didn’t mind chatter. That wasn’t guys like Alex or Luke. It was usually him, but not anymore. Brock could feel Troy’s eyes on him as he sat there and waited.

True to his own nature, he was the first person to get up and offer his hand when Elias walked into the room. Maybe that was supposed to be the Captain’s job, but with the Sedins gone, no one knew what was going to become of that job this season. And besides that, no one that had been around the team for a while expected anyone to stand on the traditional Captain protocol. It came from a weird history with the position, but that was before his time. All he knew was that someone had to welcome the kid, and since no one else moved, it seemed everyone assumed that would be him.

“I’m Brock.” He offered a friendly smile.

His lips quirked a little, but it wasn’t exactly a smile, “I am Elias.” As he shook his hand, Brock couldn’t help but notice how cold Elias’ hand was, and a lot more… delicate than his own.

“So _that’s_ how you say it?” He laughed, “Say it again. I’ve heard like fifty different ways and I don’t think _any_ of them were that.”

A blush started to creep across his cheeks, and he ducked his head down, “I know people will have trouble. _Elias_. But I told them, they can say ‘Peterson’ and I don’t care.”

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“Pettersson.” He put the full weight of his Swedish accent behind the word.

Brock blinked a couple times, “Peterson, you said? You do like a Pete or Petey?”

Elias laughed, “That’s fine.”

Brock put a hand on his arm, pulling him over to his own stall. He pointed to the nameplate, “That’s my name. How do you think you say it?”

“Bo…Bo…eh-ser?” Elias’ blush was darkening, and Brock didn’t want to think about how incredibly attractive that look was on him when combined with his particular brand of shy smile.

Brock laughed, “Yeah, no. So, like I _get_ wanting your name to be said right. So, say your name again.”

Elias pointed to Brock’s name, “How _do_ you say it?”

“ _Boeser_.” He pronounced it clearly, far too used to that question.

It was Elias’ turn to blink at him, “But there’s an o.”

Brock laughed again, “Yeah, I know. I didn’t pick the spelling, I got it when I was born.”

Elias quickly ducked his head as the blush splashed down his neck, “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool. So, like I _get_ having to correct people. And like a lotta guys like you—don’t take this the wrong way or anything—but like a lot of Europeans come in and change their names, to make it easier for like Americans and that’s bull. You should get your name said the way _you_ want it to be said. I mean you already had to like learn a whole language. So, _teach_ us.”

Brock wasn’t sure if he had talked too fast, or Elias’ English wasn’t up to that much all at once, or if he didn’t make sense at all, but Elias just stood there and stared at him for what felt like a full minute and said absolutely nothing. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say something or if he was just processing the English, so he waited. A feeling was starting to form in the pit of his stomach, something completely unfamiliar to him. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was going to cause him a lot of trouble.

Finally, half of a smile curled one side of his lips, “Elias Pettersson.”

Brock laughed out loud, “ _Good!_ We’ll all work on that.” He draped an arm across his shoulders, “Lemme introduce you around. I can practice it a few dozen times.”

By the time camp was done for the day, Brock was exhausted. He didn’t mind passing or shooting drills, he could do those all day, but pure skating was grueling. Then again, it was his own fault for staying longer and doing more, but that had always been his way. If he was comfortable when leaving training, he hadn’t really trained.

The group had thinned out over the extra hour and by this point there were only a handful of his youngest teammates still in the room. After having ditched his practice jersey in the hamper, he had sprawled himself lengthwise across four stalls. Despite the fact that the dividers were digging into his shoulder, leg, and side, he wasn’t moving. His eyes were closed, and his complete focus was on how much his thighs hurt.

“Um…” Elias hesitated. “Brock?”

Brock had heard him, but admitting that would mean he’d have to move, and he didn’t want to. But he was laying across stalls that didn’t belong to him and his morality didn’t allow him not to care about invading someone’s space without their permission. He blinked his eyes open and turned towards the sound of his name.

The overhead light was blocked out by Elias’ head and the result was a bright halo that framed his blonde hair. The effect, combined with his shy smile, made him look like something out of a renaissance painting and the very thought made Brock’s head spin a little. He was so glad he had enough sense to keep his mouth closed until his head righted itself, because otherwise he would have used the word ‘angel’ and that would have been weird. Accurate, but weird.

“You can just yank him onto the floor, if he won’t get up.” Troy’s voice came from the other side of the room and snapped Brock out of his own thoughts. “Sometimes I have to do that in the morning to get him out of bed.”

Brock sat up with a groan, “Sorry about that, but those speed drills just knocked me out.” He didn’t want to think about the fact that the way Troy had phrased his comments had bothered him. And even more so, he didn’t want to think about _why_ they would bother him. Everyone in the locker room (and a lot of the fans, if Twitter was any judge) knew he and Troy were dating, that they lived together, why would it suddenly bother him that he tossed it into conversation like that? It never had before.

“It’s fine.” Elias sat in his stall, keeping his eyes on the skates he was unlacing.

Brock couldn’t help but catch the way Elias’ hair fell into his face and his hand itched to reach over and brush it back. Instead he turned his focus on his own skates and getting himself changed and out of there as soon as possible. After his composure was back to where it should be, he glanced up at Troy, to catch the annoyed expression on his face. He couldn’t blame him, so he offered him a smile, “Ready to go, babe?”

That seemed to soften the look a little, and Troy nodded, “Just waiting on you.”

He had to get his head on straight and his mind back to where it was supposed to be, which was _not_ on the Swede that was currently undressing beside him. He kept his eyes on Troy, “I’m starving. Do we have food, or should we go out?”

Troy considered this for a moment, “We have leftovers from dinner yesterday, but they weren’t that great the first time. Let’s go out. I’m in an Italian mood.”

Brock nodded, “Then I’m going to hit the shower.” He left all of his gear hanging in his stall and headed for the shower in only his shorts. Of course, he expected Troy’s eyes to follow him as he went, but he could also feel the weight of a second set of eyes. And he didn’t mind that all that much. He knew, honestly, he would have done the same thing.

And that was already getting to be a problem.


	2. Elias

There were three things that Elias was told to expect before he walked into the locker room on the first day of camp. He was going to get overwhelmed by everything. They were going to pronounce his name wrong. And Americans were trouble. He had former teammates that had come over and reported back at that these were the three fundamental truths of playing in the NHL for Swedes. _All_ Swedes, they reminded him, he wouldn’t be any different, even if he thought he would be. Everyone thought they would be, and everyone found out that they weren’t. Of course, he thought he really _was_ different.

And ten minutes after having walked into the locker room, he accepted that he _wasn’t_ different.

The place was a cacophony of noise and almost all of it was English. He certainly called himself fluent in the language, but so much of it at once was impossible to sort out. The overwhelming amount of nervous or excited energy rolling off everyone in the room didn’t help matters. Steadying himself, all he needed to do was find the spot with his name on it and get himself into a hockey mindset. Once he was there, everything would be fine. He could deal with anything once he had skates on his feet.

In the next moment, his vision was completely blocked by the human embodiment of sunshine. Elias had never been to California, but if the movies were anything close to true, this guy had to be from there. He had that surfer kind of hair you see on TV, but never in real life. There were plenty of blond Swedes, but not like that, not that golden wind-swept blond. Combine that with his tan and bright white teeth, and he should have been in a commercial, not a locker room. He was _beautiful._ And even before he opened his mouth, Elias knew both that he was American and that he was a lot of trouble.

“I’m Brock.”

Elias tried not to laugh at that, and he was reasonable sure that he kept it to just a little smile. But if ever a name fit an image, it was his. He had certainly met Americans before, but not one that was _that_ American. It was almost awe inspiring that so many clichés could actually exist in one person. If he wasn’t from California, Elias was going to be disappointed.

He shook his hand, which of course was big and warm with a tight grip. “I am Elias.” He said his name slowly and clearly, trying to make it sound as English as he could. They were going to say it wrong (the other two things were true, so he then knew that one would be too), but he could try to head that off as much as possible.

Then Brock did just about the worst possible thing he could have done. He _laughed_. His laugh was warm and genuine, not that cold polite laugh that strangers gave, but something where you knew he was actually amused. Elias had begun to suspect that nearly everything amused him, though. On the other hand, that meant he would be hearing that laugh a lot. He didn’t mind the prospect of that, despite the fact he felt his cheeks heat up. He couldn’t look at him too much longer and ducked his head down.

“So that’s how you say it?” Brock said, “Say it again. I’ve heard like fifty different ways and I don’t think _any_ of them were that.”

Elias tried not to sigh at that. He didn’t want to hear his name said fifty different wrong ways. Back home, no one had trouble with it, in fact he might even say his name was _common_. But he had been warned that this would happen, even if he didn’t want to believe people would have trouble with a name a simple as his. “I know people will have trouble.” He spoke slowly, “ _Elias_.” He put the emphasis on the syllable he assumed would give them the most trouble, the ‘li’. If they could get at least that much, he would be happy. “I told them, they can say ‘Peterson’ and I don’t care.” It wasn’t worth fighting both battles, and a lot of guys came to the NHL and anglicized their names, it wasn’t a big deal. He was just grateful that neither his first nor last name started with a J.

Brock made a face, that might have been annoyed or curious, he wasn’t sure. “What’s it supposed to be?” He asked.

Elias considered this for a moment. Was this American really going to try to say his name like a Swede? That could be funny to hear. He let go of all pretenses of trying to sound like he spoke English at all, “ _Pettersson_.”

Brock just stared at him, blinking. Elias did all he could not to burst out laughing. After a few seconds, Brock spoke, “Peterson, you said? You do like a Pete or Petey?” He flashed a cheesy grin that Elias was already coming to like far too much.

That finally did make him laugh, “That’s fine.” He was going to have to get used to that kind of nickname from the Americans (or Canadians, but he honestly couldn’t tell the difference). He supposed it was a good thing, it would help him fit in better with his teammates if they could call him something that was easy for them to say.

Brock put a hand on his arm and Elias forced himself not to jump at that. He could feel how warm his hand was through the material of his sleeve, and he was shocked at how comforting it felt, despite the fact that he was positive that wasn’t the point of the gesture. He was still trying to reason out what was wrong with him, when he realized Brock was moving him over towards one of the stalls and pointing at a nameplate. _Var uppmärksam!_

Brock was speaking and he had to focus on that and not the feeling of his hand on his arm, which he still hadn’t released. “That’s my name. How do you think you say it?”

He put his focus on the word printed across the nameplate and frowned. He could tell just by looking at it, and the tone of Brock’s voice, that he was going to get it wrong. There were going to be letters in there that you don’t say, but for the life of him, he couldn’t guess _which_ letters he wasn’t supposed to say. He felt his cheeks flush again, but he ignored it, “Bo…Bo…eh-ser?” Yeah, that was wrong, he knew.

Brock’s laugh returned, as his punishment for pronouncing his name wrong. Elias did not like what that sound was doing to him every time he heard it. Brock let go of his arm, and Elias was acutely aware of the feeling of his hand _not_ being there as much as he was of when it was there.

“Yeah, no.” But Brock didn’t sound surprised that he’d gotten it wrong, so he didn’t feel too bad about it. “So, like I get wanting your name to be said right. So, say your name again.”

Elias’s attention was still on the nameplate. He pointed to it, “How _do_ you say it?”

“ _Boeser_.” Brock said it slowly and clearly.

Seriously?! Elias blinked a few times, trying to make the letters printed on the nameplate match up with the sounds Brock had just made. “But there’s an o.” It just didn’t make sense to pronounce it that way. What was wrong with English? Why did it have to be like that?!

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t pick the spelling, I got it when I was born.” Brock’s laugh snapped Elias out of his thoughts. It also dawned on him that he’d just said something monumentally stupid. He had always prided himself on keeping his composure in every circumstance and he didn’t like that this guy was throwing him off, even if that laugh was a dangerous weapon he didn’t know how to defend against yet.

“Sorry.” He felt his blush grow, but he ignored it. He’d figure out a way to hold his own against him eventually.

Of course, Brock shrugged it off, “No, it’s cool. So, like I get having to correct people. And a lotta guys like you—don’t take this the wrong way or anything—but a lot of Europeans come in and change their names, to make it easier for us Americans and that’s bull. You should get your name said the way you want it to be said. I mean you already had to like learn a whole language. So, _teach_ us.”

Elias just stared at him. He couldn’t honestly believe that an American would actually say those words. He had been told that they would anglicize his name whether he liked it or not because Americans had issues about things that sounded foreign or something like that. And yet here was this caricature of an American standing up and nearly demanding that they say Elias' name right simply because that was the right thing to do. And not only that, but he also acknowledged how much extra work Europeans had to put in just to be able to join a team. A lot of feelings were roiling around in Elias’ stomach and he was positive that none of them were a good thing to direct at someone he had met less than ten minutes ago. And yet there they were, and he knew that he was in so much more trouble than he ever expected to be.

Brock was looking at him strangely and only then did he realize that he hadn’t actually replied to him out loud. He took a breath to sort all of his thoughts back into the boxes they belonged, so that, despite the fact his head was full of dangerous thoughts, he wouldn’t say something to make a complete fool of himself. What was he supposed to be answering? He tried to remember what they had even been talking about. _Oh,_ his name. He could do that. That was something his low amount of functioning brain could process.

“Elias Pettersson.” He made sure to make it sound as Swedish as he possibly could.

“Good! We’ll all work on that.” Brock laughed again and Elias’ brain promptly shut off. That was just about all of that he could take. But of course, Brock wasn’t done short circuiting him and instead thought it was a very good idea to put his arm around his shoulders. He said something else after that, but it was just white noise in Elias’ ear. The only thoughts he had were things that he was not prepared to be dealing with in his first day of training camp, up to and including how good he smelled.

Hockey-wise, he was ready to deal with anything, but this was something very different, something he hadn’t expected. For all intents and purposes, he was a very practical person. He had talked to everyone he could about what to expect in camp, and he thought he had all of his bases covered. He knew how to talk to guys that had been around a long time, how to take cliché advice and not roll his eyes, how to deal with all kinds of coaches, how to work with whatever linemates they put him with, and how to deal with the shuffle of camp. He had asked about every possible situation he could have found himself in. He thought. But he had asked exactly _nobody_ what to do if you fell for your teammate within ten minutes of meeting him. And he didn’t have the first clue how to deal with _that_.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Once he was able to step out onto the ice, he could focus on hockey. Maybe once or twice he might have glanced over to see what Brock was doing, but for the most part, he could keep his mind where it was supposed to be. He was happy to get to do skating drills at the end of practice, because those were always his favorite. It was easy to blank his mind and just feel the ice under his blades.

He had almost convinced himself that he could handle this, until he walked back into the locker room to find a shirtless Brock sprawled across his stall. Elias wasn’t a big swearer, but a few choice words floated through his mind at that sight, none of which, thankfully, he said out loud. Instead he just stared at him for a minute. Part of him didn’t want to interrupt, but he promptly shoved that part back into its box and said, “Um... Brock?”

For a moment, he didn’t move, and Elias wondered if he was asleep. And if he was asleep, what was he supposed to do about it? But Brock opened his eyes and blinked up at him and those swear words intensified. He would have never considered himself a poetic person, but the sight of Brock opening his eyes and smiling at him, caused his brain to compose something that certainly wasn’t fit to be said aloud. Elias couldn’t stop himself from wondering if that’s what it was like to wake up beside him. That thought was quickly shoved into its box too.

From behind him, came a comment that hit a little too close to his thoughts for Elias liking. “You can just yank him onto the floor, if he won’t get up.” Troy said, “Sometimes I have to do that in the morning to get him out of bed.”

The realization hit Elias like a ton of bricks. He’d caught moments of Brock and Troy laughing together earlier in the day, but they hadn’t bothered him. Brock laughed with just about everyone, so his moments with Troy hadn’t really stood out, until the implications of that comment settled into his brain. He bit his lip hard so nothing would show on his face, but his mind was going in a whirlwind and he couldn’t get it to settle down fast enough for his liking. Brock was saying something as he sat up, but the words weren’t loud enough to be heard over what his brain was screaming at him.

“It’s fine.” Elias heard himself say as he sat in his stall.

He kept his eyes on his skates and tried to make himself remember to breathe normally. He was actively _not_ listening to what they were saying, but all the same, he caught the pet name and felt his eye twitch a little. This was _insane_. This wasn’t him. He was here to play hockey, that’s all. Anything else would just be a distraction. It was better for him that it wasn’t going to be now. He had enough to deal with just being a rookie in the NHL, he didn’t need to add anything else to that. He forced himself to keep his eyes on what he was doing and nothing else. He could have changed out of gear with his eyes closed, but today he watched everything his hands did.

That was all well and good until Brock decided to walk by him wearing not nearly enough clothing for his sanity. Though he didn’t lift his head up, his eyes followed Brock until he was out of sight. After he was gone, Elias closed his eyes for a second before turning his attention back to his own gear. His cheeks were pink, he could feel it. He’d learn not to look up eventually, he told himself. He could handle that. He could just _not_ look. It was going to be fine.

_Right_.


	3. Brock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My anon said they wanted the cliffhanger ending rather than waiting, so here it is.

By the time the first preseason game rolled around, Brock knew he was in trouble. He didn’t tell anyone, of course, but he knew it. He didn’t play in that game (which was no big deal to anyone except him) but he did watch it. He may have never watched a game as intently as he watched that one. And he had never felt such a range of emotions during a game he wasn’t even playing in. He told himself it was just the excitement of a new season that was knocking him off kilter, but that lie could only last so long.

Troy had played in that game and Brock of course was watching him. Except for all the time that he wasn’t. Elias had made friends with Nikolay pretty quickly, which was a good thing, Brock told himself. The kid needed as many friends around him as possible, he knew from experience. That would only help him get comfortable. And maybe they had some far-from-home connection that an American couldn’t really understand. Canada was a different country, but it wasn’t a _different country_. All the same, watching Elias celebrate his first point (albeit not a _real_ point) with Nikolay made Brock’s stomach knot up in a way he did not expect.

It was in the last few weeks of camp that things had started to get strange in Brock’s head. Stranger than they usually were, because to be completely honest, Brock’s head was always a roller coaster. He told himself that he was just checking up on Elias, like his coach had asked, nothing more. But he kept finding himself being drawn to just… stand next to him. Waiting for his turn at a drill, he’d just drift a little closer. Sometimes he’d stop himself, but other times he… didn’t. When Elias smiled at him, his stomach flipped over. And once, when he’d caught Elias and Nikolay laughing out of the corner of his eye, he completely missed an empty net shot. But it was _nothing_.

Troy had noticed the ‘nothing’. Some days he’d just get a cold look across the locker room, until Brock crossed the carpet and kissed him right in front of everyone. Other days, the kiss wasn’t enough, and Brock had to explain that there was _nothing_ going on with the new guy, the only person he was looking at was Troy. On those days, even though he said the words, and he _meant_ the words, something in the back of his head was ashamed of him. It was a week or so into preseason that even those words weren’t enough.

Lines in preseason games were always a mess, but he and Elias had played together some. Not enough, but some. But it was that 5-on-3 in Calgary, that something had happened. He’d been firing the puck at the net, shot after shot was blocked—three in a row, and he saw each one of them not go in when they _should_ have. And then, in the next breath, he _knew_ how this was going work. Hockey always happened a lot slower than real-time in his mind, but now he could see not only his own plays, but Elias’ too. _That_ had never happened before. The next thing he knew, the puck was in the back of the net. And Elias’ arms were wrapped around him, his laugh in his ear. It was two full shifts later by the time he could get that sound out of his head enough to focus on the game.  

They lost, for the third time in four games. Elias’ first goal (albeit not a _real_ goal) hadn’t been enough, and that put them both in a sour mood. There wasn’t much talk in the locker room after the game. They were already tired of losing and the season hadn’t even started. But something had happened during the game. Something Brock wasn’t ready to think about, or even admit to himself. Something he pushed back into that corner of his mind Elias always occupied.

Later that night, Troy sat on the end of his hotel bed and watched Brock get dressed.

“I can’t help if you don’t like it,” Brock said, not for the first time.

“You _can_ help how you _look_ at him,” Troy countered, also not for the first time.

Brock shook his head, “I don’t look at him any special way. He’s just a teammate.”

“You don’t even see yourself, do you? I should take a picture. But believe me, I see it!” Troy snapped.

Brock sighed. It was late and he was tired. The whole argument had started when he told Troy that he was going to go back to his own room. Of course, Troy wanted him to stay. Normally this wasn’t an issue, he would have wrapped up with Troy and fallen asleep in his arms after they were finished. But this season was different. Brock had a responsibility to Elias not to abandon him during his first road trip, even if it was just to Calgary.

He’d shown Elias to their room when they got there, changed into casual clothes, and told him he’d be back sometime that night. He hadn’t mentioned that to Troy when he showed up at his door. He didn’t get much of a chance to say anything before Troy was kissing all the sense out of his head. But now that the high from making love had faded, he’d regained some of that sense back. And he’d told him that he couldn’t stay. Almost right away, Troy had started in on how he _looked_ at Elias.

“You’re seeing things that aren’t there,” Brock repeated.

Troy scoffed, “Oh, believe me, the _last_ thing I _want_ to see is my _boyfriend_ making eyes at someone _else_. I _wish_ it wasn’t there! But it _is_. And now you’re running back to _him_ instead of sleeping with _me_!” Each emphasized word was thrown like a punch.

“I’m going back to _my_ room because that’s where I’m _supposed_ to sleep. And I don’t want to leave him alone on his first road trip, because that’s what _Coach_ asked me to do. That’s _all_. I came _here_ because I wanted to spend time with you, because I love _you_. Only you. Do you hear that? I’m dating _you_. There is _nothing_ in how I look at him, I have _no_ interest in him. Just like all the complaints you had about Bo last season. I _only_ love _you._ Okay?”

Troy’s shoulders dropped and he ducked his head down with a sigh, “Yeah… okay.” He looked up at Brock, “I’m sorry.”

Brock moved to sit next to him, turning Troy’s face towards him with a hand on his cheek, “It’s okay. Just _trust_ me.” He leaned in to kiss him gently, closing his eyes, willing himself to focus on nothing but that moment and that kiss. As if that could erase the horrible feeing deep in the back of his head that maybe not everything he’d said to Troy was the complete truth. Brock pulled away slowly, giving him a smile, “Better now?”

Troy grinned, “Yeah, that… that always makes me feel better.”

“Good.” He stood to shove his feet into his sneakers without tying them, “Breakfast tomorrow morning?” Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he attempted to control the mess his hair had become, but quickly gave up. He grabbed a hat off the top of Troy’s bag and put it on backwards.

That got another smile from Troy, “Definitely.” He walked Brock to the door, pausing to kiss him again, “Maybe we could set up your roomie with Goldy, I saw them flirting. That’d cool my jealousy off.”

Brock laughed, even as his stomach clenched at the idea, “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

Troy held the door open, “I love you.”

He smiled, “I love you, too.” He gave Troy another quick kiss, “Good night.” He could feel Troy watching him walk down the hallway, but he didn’t turn around.

As he slid the keycard into the door, he paused. What if Troy had been right about it being flirting? What if it had been _more_ than that? What if he was about to walk into something he certainly didn’t want to see? He’d walked in on plenty of teammates over the years, it hadn’t bothered him, he’d just excused himself quickly. But the thought that Elias could be behind that door doing… something… made his stomach knot up more than anything else ever had.

His mind, completely against his will, flashed back to all the times he’d seen them talking or laughing together. Elias didn’t seem the type to just hook up with someone after barely knowing them, but in truth how well did Brock really know the guy? Not well enough to make that call anyway. And Elias’ part of his brain was screaming at him that if that _had_ happened, he only had himself to blame if he didn’t like it. He hadn’t exactly done anything to stop it. As if he had any right to stop it.

With a deep breath, he pushed the door open.


	4. Brock

Brock pushed the hotel room door open so slowly that by the time he was actually inside the room, Elias was not only staring at him, but he’d adopted the most confused look that he had ever seen. Unlike whatever scenes Brock had imagined during his walk down the hallway, Elias was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt, with his laptop open in front of him. And most importantly, he was alone.

“Uh. I wasn’t sure if you’d be asleep.” Brock let the door close behind him, walking the rest of the way into the room like a normal person. Well, as normal as he could pretend to be. He knew his cheeks were pink, but he hoped he could pass it off as anything other than what it was. “I’m not even sure what time it is.”

Elias glanced down at his laptop and then back up to him, “12:16,” He reported in the most even tone Brock had ever heard. There was nothing, _absolutely nothing,_ to be read in that tone, and that was _weird_. He didn’t know what to do with that. The fact that he _wanted_ to know what Elias thought about the hour he’d rolled in was a problem in and of itself.

Brock toed his shoes off and kicked them towards his bag. Even though he had put his back to Elias, he could still feel his eyes on him. It had never fazed him to undress in front of anyone before, but at that moment, the thought of grabbing his pajamas and heading for the bathroom did actually cross his mind. He tossed his hat onto the dresser, and he caught the emblem emblazoned across the front in a green that was decidedly not the Canucks’ shade. Things had been a _lot_ less complicated in North Dakota.

“I don’t need to be babysitted.” Elias’ voice drew him out of his introspection. The way he rolled that through his accent, though, it took Brock a second before he could force his mind to go from ‘that sounds _good_ ’ to ‘actual words were spoken, and you need to reply’.

He turned to look at him, “I _said_ I’d come back. You not want me here?” He didn’t expect to sound so defensive, but he didn’t go through everything he just went through with Troy to be told he wasn’t _needed._  

Elias quickly shook his head, sending his hair into his face. He had clearly showered and let his hair dry without gel, which was a fantastic look on him. Not that Brock had noticed. He found himself with that ‘actual words’ problem again, however. “No. I like to have you to talk to.” Elias gave him a smile that could have been used as a lethal weapon in other circumstances, “You don’t talk like I am stupid, but I can know all the words.”

Brock returned the smile, “You’re _not_ stupid.” He’d been told he spoke slowly and clearly before, more than once, but he never noticed it. He wondered if he had Jessica to thank for that. It wasn’t something he did consciously, but there was no good reason to not be understandable to everyone. Why talk if you couldn’t be easily understood by the person you were talking to? “Your English is better than half our teammates that were born here.”

Elias gave him a shy smile, “Not really. But thank you.”

Realizing he was still holding the pair of pajama pants that he had intended to change into, he turned back to his suitcase to finish the process of undressing. Despite all the locker rooms he’d been in, he had never been more conscious of being naked than he was in that moment. He stepped into the pants with some sense of relief. He was going to grab a t-shirt, but the room was already _hot_ enough, so he skipped it. He thought he caught Elias’ eyes snapping down to his laptop as he turned around, but it might have been his imagination.

Stretching out on the empty bed, Brock looked over to him, “So, besides the loss, not a bad first road game?”

Elias shrugged, his eyes glued to his laptop, “The loss is a big part.”

Brock laughed, “Okay, but it’s just preseason. Your goal was nice.”

Without turning his head, he glanced over to Brock out of the corner of his eyes, “We are good linemates.”

It hadn’t been phrased as a question and Brock didn’t miss that. “Yeah, I think so, too.” He started to say something else but stopped before the words could form. _Maybe play a real game together before you start spouting crazy shit_ , he told himself. Rolling over onto his back, he sighed, “Better get some sleep, we’ve got a weird rink for our game on Monday. In _Utah_ of all places.”

“What is _Utah?”_ Elias asked with some notes of concern in his voice.

Hearing that tone, Brock looked over to him, “Oh it’s a state, in… kinda the middle of nowhere. It’s the Kings. Remember hearing about that one?”

Elias narrowed his eyes, “That is _not_ where they said the game was. They moved it?”

Brock shook his head, “No, that’s what they said. You want me to show you a map?”

He turned his computer towards him, “You show me.”

Brock got up, moving to sit on the edge of Elias’ bed, far too aware of _that_ feeling he got whenever he was close to him and there wasn’t hockey to distract him. He opened the browser and searched up a map of North America. “Okay, so here’s Vancouver.” He pointed to the screen, “And Calgary, that’s where we are now. And then down here, this green state here, that’s Utah. And we’re going to Salt Lake City. Because the Kings are doing a thing, I guess. We’re doing a thing later where we’re going to Kelowna, which isn’t even on this map, but it’s like over here, somewhere under the ‘er’ in Vancouver.”

Elias clicked his tongue, “I knew I was not stupid. Salt Lake City. That is what they said. Not _Utah_. Just call it what it is! You ask me where am I from? I say Sundsvall. I do not say Västernorrland one time and Sundsvall another time.” He shook his head in annoyance. “I ask you, where are you from. I did, I ask you. And you say… you say _Minnesota_.” He sounded the word out carefully, and Brock was impressed with how well he did, but he didn’t dare interrupt the rant to tell him so. “And I think this is a city.” He rolled his eyes, “No, it is _not._ You are not from that whole place. You are from a _city_.”

Brock bit his lip through the whole thing, so he wouldn’t laugh. He didn’t want Elias to take it the wrong way. He wasn’t laughing at him struggling with states and cities, but the expression he put behind the rant was probably the most emotion he’d ever seen from him. And it was… well, it was a lot of things Brock wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him. Once the silence indicated he was supposed to speak, he cleared his throat, “Uh… Burnsville.”

Elias turned a glare on him until it seemed to register that he had given him an answer, “Well, good. You say that now, okay? _That_ is where you are from. And we go there.” He pointed to the laptop’s screen, “Salt Lake City. That has no NHL team.”

“Yeah, we’re expanding the sport or something.” Brock shrugged, “It’s gonna be a smaller arena, so that should be fun. But we really should get some sleep.” Despite that, he didn’t stand up just yet.

Elias nodded, but his attention was on the map that was still up on his screen. Maybe he was studying it a little _too_ hard. “Where is Burnsville?” He ran the name through his accent, so it ended up coming out more like - _vall_ than - _ville_ , more like his own hometown. Brock wasn’t going to correct him for anything.

He leaned in, pointing, “This green one is Minnesota. Burnsville is south of Minneapolis, but it’s pretty close, so it’s about… here. Right next to the ‘s’.”

Elias studied the map for a moment and then nodded, “You are far from home, too.”

Brock shook his head, “Not as far as you are.”

“Mmm, but… not near home. Would you want to play there?” He looked over to him.

 Brock shrugged, “I guess so, someday. But I like it in Vancouver.”

Elias made another murmuring sound at the map before closing his laptop. He looked over to Brock. “Like it there a little longer.” It was the gentlest command he had ever been given.

Brock smiled, “Or maybe a _lot_ longer.”  Every cell in his body was screaming at him to do something he _knew_ he had no right to do. “We should get some sleep.” He started to stand up and he thought he saw Elias’ hand move. But when nothing else happened, he figured it was just his imagination and stood up. He could feel Elias watch him walk over to his bed, but he didn’t look over to him until he was safely under the sheet. “Good night.”

“Godnatt,” Elias returned, turning off the bedside lamp before settling himself under his sheet as well.

Brock turned over and pushed his face into the pillow. He had always struggled to shut off his mind, but today was especially difficult. He should have been thinking about hockey or even his boyfriend, but all that was running through his head was a flip of blonde hair and the sweetest accent he’d ever heard. After a little while, he had to turn over because laying on his stomach was becoming painful.

It was going to be a _long_ night.


End file.
